


Lacuna

by Escopeta



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dragon Keith, Fantasy AU, Friendship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paladin Shiro, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escopeta/pseuds/Escopeta
Summary: [Title is subject to change.]In a land with an abundance of potential dangers, having one's memories wiped--and therefore the knowledge of the realm--is crueler than death. He can't remember anything except his name and the very basics of living. He'll have to travel the land to restore his memories and catch up on everything he had missed from his apparent deep sleep.And the first order of business? Figure out how the man standing before him already knows his name.





	Lacuna

There’s the smell of smoke.

Panicked screams echo in his ears, and somebody shouts his name at the top of their lungs. But then it gets dark, and his sword is slicing through thick flesh. Pain sears down his entire right arm and he stumbles backward. “Oh gods,” a voice says. “Oh gods. You’ll be okay. Don’t worry. We just need to—no, _no_ , stay with me, please—,” followed by more darkness, and then a harsh blinding light. Some explosives go off, and he falls into darkness once again.

He opens his eyes.

It’s cold, and the room he’s in is dimly lit with a large glowing crystal up on the ceiling. The walls are made of natural stone as is the floor. He’s in a shallow puddle of… water, maybe. The liquid is too iridescent for his liking. Four pillars are around it and stand at about twice his height. At the top of each one is a crystal orb lighting up odd markings all around the faces of each pillar.

Slowly, he sits up, and finds himself completely naked. No sort of clothing is around, as far as he knows. There are scars in several places along his body, and his hair is long enough that it drapes over his shoulders.

As he looks to his arm, he wants to hurl. Just a little bit. Most of it is gone, having been cut off somehow from just above his bicep. He doesn’t know how or why or _when_ , but it’s now replaced with a deep black stone. It isn’t any heavier than if he had his normal arm, but logically he thinks it should be. Strange runes are carved into it all the way to his palm.

He flexes his hand, and it responds as if it’s still made of flesh.

When he takes a breath, he can see it expelled in front of him. Is it winter? Is that why it’s so cold in this chamber?

Of all the things he doesn’t remember, he can at least recollect one important fact.

“I’m Shiro,” he says to himself; he lets the words roll off his tongue. “Takashi… Shirogane.” His mouth is dry, and his throat feels raw, but it could be simply due to the chilly temperature.

There’s a slab of stone at the only entrance to the room. Now that he’s awake, he can’t stay here. He needs answers, and his memories. Clothes would be nice too.

Shiro leans his body weight against one of the pillars as he wobbles to stand. He practices walking around the chamber a few times to get momentum in his legs again. He’s surprisingly fit and muscular for being presumably asleep for who knows how long. The scars along his body might have something to do with it. Maybe he was a warrior of some kind.

As he approaches the slab, he sees a marking carved at its center. It looks similar to the runes on his arm. There isn’t another way out, and until he knows what this arm is supposed to do, he’ll have to use his instincts. Shiro presses his palm against the marking and it glows for a moment. The slab then drags itself out of the way to the right.

He walks through what he thinks is a tunnel of some kind. Smaller crystals are embedded in the stone along the walls, like stars glittering in the night sky. They help him find his way to the exit of the cave which is also blocked by a stone slab. Another rune carving is hidden at the bottom right corner. He presses his hand to it again, and it falls forward.

Clouds mask the moon as falling snow blinds his vision. It isn’t a blizzard, but it isn’t gentle either. Had he known it’d be night, he wouldn’t have opened the chamber. Sure, he could wait until morning to venture out, but he doesn’t know where he is, and by extension, doesn’t know if hungry monsters might just happen to pass by. They could catch him off guard while he hides himself in the chamber.

No, he has to move out now that it’s dark.

Shiro keeps to the side of the mountain, praying that he doesn’t get caught in an avalanche of some kind. He can’t see much of anything, and he’s getting soaked to the bone. Carefully he steps over any stones, conscious that he might slip and fall to who knows where.

It’s painfully cold, and if he doesn’t find a new shelter soon, he’ll most likely die.

Other footsteps crunch in the snow behind him, and his heart stops. There’s a growl, and then he sprints away without looking back.

He feels like his stone arm should be doing something, but it does little else except remind him of some horrible past lost. If there’s runes on it, that means it needs to be activated by magic of some kind for it to do… whatever it’s meant to. Probably. But as far as he knows—or remembers—he isn’t a healer or a witch, or any other individual blessed by magic.

There’s a screech from the creature behind him, and he’s hit in the back with some fleshy weight. Shiro tumbles down the small hill, his fall saved only by the plush snow. Standing before him is some hideous, purple quadrupedal creature. Its limbs are bent oddly, like it’s not meant to be walking on four legs. It has no eyes; just stripes where they should be. It drools as it bears its fangs. The mouth has three rows of sharp teeth, like a shark. Its hands and feet are webbed with three long fingers, yet only one of each has an elongated talon.

It screeches and charges toward him. Shiro rolls out of the way and runs further down the hill. He still can’t see much, but the creature is dark enough that he can distinguish it from the pure white of his surroundings. If he has to guess, it only attacks at night for this reason; it’s too obvious in the daytime.

But he doesn’t anticipate the possibility that it can leap like a frog.

He gets knocked down and cries out as a talon slashes against his side. The creature opens its maw and lunges at him, but he deflects it with his right arm. The teeth can’t pierce through the stone, thankfully, no matter how hard it tries to bite down.

Shiro cries out again when the creature lets go and slashes at his face. A cut slices across the bridge of his nose and he bleeds. The creature tackles him to the ground and smacks him around with its arm. It tries to bite him again but he shoves his hand in its mouth as it chomps down. With both of its hands, it tries to pin him to the ground. Each talon digs into Shiro’s skin and he yells. The runes of his arm glow for only a second and then the creature leaps back with a pained cry.

Its tongue has been burned, as well as the roof of its mouth. It growls again and lunges, now conscious of the fact that his arm is his apparent weapon. But he wouldn’t know how to activate it again should he need to do so.

He dodges and ducks, rolls out of harm’s way or jumps back from any strikes the creature tries to make. It no longer tries to bite at him, but instead attempts to use its own body weight to tackle him to the ground. All his fresh wounds sting, and he’s getting dizzy from blood loss. It’s cold, and he’s already tired. He can’t see anything and worries he might fall off a cliff.

The creature makes a deep yipping sound. He notices it’s shivering, and he supposes it can’t handle the cold too well either. Before he can come up with a plan, more footsteps rush toward him, and he’s knocked back down, face first into the snow.

Now there are three of them.

Maybe they’re individual hunters, but when they can’t catch their prey, they try to attack in numbers. Considering it’s frigid and snowing, he figures they might only hunt for a short period of time before retreating to… wherever it is they nest.

Shiro doesn’t know how he’s going to handle these things. Their flesh isn’t covered in scales or any kind of natural armor. But their hides could be thick, and without knowing for sure, he has no battle plan.

One of them pounces at him and he knocks it away with his stone arm. The second comes from behind and he gives it an uppercut, only to be head-butted in the back by the third. He loses track of how many times he retaliates amongst their tackles and trying to slash at him with their talons.

Finally, when he can’t force himself to even sit up, he stays down. This is how he dies. Without answers, and without memories. Alone and naked in the cold. He’s going to be eaten alive, and he prays the cold kills him first.

The trio of monsters crawl toward him, their mouths hanging open, rows of sharp teeth on full display. Shiro closes his eyes, and contemplates what he did wrong to end up in this situation. What could have he done differently to not be here right now?

He feels their rancid breath on his face; smells like rotting meat. It’s all he _can_ feel with his body going numb from the cold. Maybe he won’t taste as appetizing to them once he’s frozen solid.

But the inevitable never comes. They screech instead, but his vision is fuzzy to make out what’s happening. There’s fire, and he hears something heavy thud against a large boulder. Then two more join it. There’s more fire as they howl in pain. Are they being burned alive by something? Cooked flesh reaches his nose, and it smells even worse than their breath.

And then the screeching dies out.

Footsteps from something large crunch in the snow and then they stop before him. There’s a huff of breath on his face before he’s gently lifted into a pair of arms. He’s pressed against this thing’s chest, and he thinks he hears a heartbeat. The body is warm, and when it huffs on him again, it smells faintly like cinnamon.

He’s carried into the sky, he thinks. Those flapping sounds have to be wings. And though the winter wind nips at his body, the warmth from his rescuer lulls him into a slumber.

Later he thinks he hears a voice speaking to itself while something warm coils around him (it has the same cinnamon scent), but he falls back asleep before he can decipher the source.

  
◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇  
  


When he wakes up again, he isn’t greeted by harsh snowfall.

Instead he’s been clothed in some pants and a long-sleeved tunic. The fabric is soft yet the material is tight around his torso. He’s lying in a circular bed, on a fluffy pillow, and wrapped in even fluffier blankets. They’re warm enough that he wonders if it’s made from goose down or something similar.

Shiro sits up carefully. All his wounds have been bandaged and they don’t sting anymore. The only one that’s still a little sore is the gash across the bridge of his nose. He touches it gingerly and finds that there’s some sort of ointment on it. It smells minty.

He places his hand against the stone wall. It’s a dark grey, and sort of cold. The light is dim in this corner of the room; it’s illuminated by a fluorescent mushroom of some kind sticking out of the wall. He’s sure fungi don’t grow that big, so he has to wonder whose home this is.

The bedroom is a small corner atop wooden floorboards. There’s a furniture piece with drawers next to it, like a dresser. A leather chest is at the foot of the bed, and there’s an oval rug to step on when one gets out of bed. But while the corner is spacious enough, the rest of the area is just a walkway. Maroon curtains are drawn behind the wooden railing, and at the end of this narrow path is another corner with an armchair situated next to a window.

Carefully he stands and walks over to it. The railing ends in front of where another rug is placed, which probably means there’s a staircase behind this section of the curtain. He goes to the circular window and pulls the curtains back. The snowfall is gentle now, dusting the expanse of sparkling white as if the storm from last night had never happened. It’s light out, so it’s either morning or early afternoon. He can’t be sure.

Footsteps pad toward him from the staircase. A black snout pokes through the curtain, and then he’s facing a rather large wolf. It stares at him with yellow eyes, unblinking. There are cyan markings around its sockets and a pale blue stripe down its snout that extends into a pattern around its mane.

Before he can even do anything, the wolf disappears in a blink of an eye.

This prompts Shiro to tread down the staircase. He’s lead into a wide-open room, and judging by the ceiling, he’s in a stone dome of some kind. A thick tree root is what’s supporting the second level. Another large fungus hangs from the center of the dome’s ceiling and glows with a soft warm light, almost as if the sun is its source.

Whoever’s home this is, it’s definitely cozy. A complex fireplace is built into the stone so the smoke from the flames exhausts outside. Next to it is a kitchen corner with pegs dangling various cookware and dishware. A tall single table rests nearby. On the stovetop is a hearty pot simmering with something; it smells delicious. Some kind of broth, maybe. Above it are shelves with a glass door. Through them, he can see jars labeled in neat writing: ‘honey’, ‘sugar’, ‘rosemary’, ‘sea salt’, ‘cinnamon’, ‘marmalade’, and so on.

On the floor at the center of the room is a large circular rug that nearly covers the entire width of the area. The pattern stitched on it reminds him of a star chart. Underneath the second level is a dining area consisting of a round table and two chairs; another set of armchairs sit next to a bookshelf along with a tall potted plant of some kind; there’s a larger furniture piece flush to the wall which he thinks is some sort of armoire. The top of it nearly touches the underside of the massive tree root suspending the second floor.

There’s a door against the wall underneath the belly of the staircase. Upon entry, it leads to a washroom with a latrine. There aren’t any windows, but there’s a mirror. Next to it is a sink and a lantern for light. A plant grows from the center wall and makes the room smell like fresh air. He wonders if this is how any and all bad smells dissipate. The latrine is an alcove—seemingly made manually into the stone, and the hole has a lid over it. A ceramic bathtub is the final thing wedged in the last remaining space of the small room.

He looks into the mirror. A wide long lock of white hair stands out against the black. Did he always have that? Some stubble is growing on his jaw. The gash across his face has closed, though it’s going to scar no doubt. Shiro decides not to contemplate too much on it, and instead explores the last section of the room.

It juts out irregularly into a kind of squared space of the otherwise circular room and is elevated by a stone slope. Another thick tree root acts as the natural railing (although he notes the two entryways on either side were made by cutting the root somehow). Plants, flowers, and fungi are growing along a system of vertical planters on the left wall. A wide and tall shelf hosts several different kinds of jars with dubious contents, a few books, and other miscellaneous things. On the wall at either side of the shelf are slim windows with the curtains drawn closed. A tall potted plant is nestled against the third and final wall. From it, odd colorful fruits grow in abundance.

But the space that catches his attention the most is the table at the center of this level. There’s a black cauldron there, seemingly empty. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume it was the workspace of a healer. Or a witch.

Gods, now he doesn’t know if his rescue was a blessing, or a curse.

His instincts tell him he should leave. But his common-sense reasons that he has no knowledge of what’s going on ever since he woke up that first time. Actually, where is that wolf he saw earlier?

The front door creeps open, and in walks said wolf.

Except it’s not alone. Behind him follows a person. They’re wearing a cloak with the hood up, so he doesn’t see their face until the door locks behind them. (A quick glimpse out the door reveals a dark passageway. Is this place not on leveled ground?)

When the stranger removes the hood, Shiro is met with large, violet eyes.

If there was a word that meant both beautiful and handsome, that’s what would describe the young man before him.

“You’re awake,” he says, staring. “Almost thought you wouldn’t make it.”

Thick eyebrows, straight nose with the slightest curve upward at the tip, and semi-full lips. His hair is black and somewhat long. It looks fluffy and soft to the touch, draping down the nape of his neck. A little sprout of hair sticks up in the back at the top. The bangs get in his face, and locks frame his jaw, but he doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Um,” Shiro starts intelligently, “wh—how did—uh, where am I, exactly? And who are you?”

For a split second, the man frowns, and his eyes look sad. But the sentiment vanishes as soon as it came. “A better question: how much do you remember?”

“How would you know to ask that question?” he counters.

“Sharp; that much is good news. Are your wounds feeling better? I treated you with the best medicine I could make.”

“Yeah. Nothing hurts. Thank you.”

“That’s good; I’m glad.” The man hauls a sack over his shoulder and sets it on top of the kitchen table. He takes out a roll of cheese, a silver jug of milk, lays out fresh vegetables and fruits, and an assortment of bread. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” he apologizes. “Had to go run some errands.” He sets a skinned rabbit and a large chunk of meat on the table.

“Where am I?” Shiro asks.

“My home,” the stranger replies simply. He takes the meat, cheese, and milk to the ice box. “It’s inside a giant boulder if you couldn’t already tell.”

Shiro waits until the man is finished storing his newest foodstuffs. “Yes, I can see that. But I…”

“You still haven’t answered my question. How much do you remember?”

“Not a lot.”

He doesn’t get a reply. The man hangs up his cloak and then gets to work on chopping up the rabbit at the table. He’s rather quick and nimble with a knife. “I’ll explain over lunch,” he says. “If you can set the dining table, that’d be very helpful. Dishes are up there in the cabinet.” He nods toward them before going back to his work.

When the food is done cooking, Shiro is served first. It’s a vegetable broth with rabbit meat. “Not too heavy of a meal,” the man explains. “It should be enough to start gaining your strength back.”

Silence settles into the room as they eat. The wolf lays under the table near the man’s feet. After a few bites of his broth (which is seriously delicious), Shiro asks, “So, might I get some answers now, please? Maybe your name at least?”

“Keith,” he replies. “Just Keith. And this is my friend, Kosmo.” The wolf walks out from under the table and stretches. “He’s docile and friendly, unless I’m being threatened.”

“That doesn’t look like any wolf I’ve seen before; he’s really huge.”

“Because he’s a rare breed. And how would you know?” Keith blows on his next spoonful of broth. “I thought you couldn’t remember a lot.”

“I… don’t. General things I know, but my past—I don’t have any memories other than my name. Oh, um, yes. I’m Shiro, by the way. Takashi Shirogane.”

Keith glances at his stone arm, and then at Shiro again. “I know.”

“You do? How? We just met.”

He pauses, and bites his lip. “I just… know things. Like how long you’ve been asleep. I mean, aside from the few days you were knocked out recovering in my house.”

“I’d be appreciative if you told me.”

“You might not like the answer. Or even believe it.”

“‘Might’ being the keyword.”

It’s minor, but Keith smiles. “Well you can’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ve got no reason to lie, so you better believe me when I say you’ve been asleep for about 100 years.”

Shiro drops his spoon on the floor. Kosmo is quick to lap up the broth that splattered.

“I’ve been— _what?_ ”

“A hundred years, yup.”

“But I haven’t—”

“Aged? I’m not surprised.” Keith finishes his bowl of broth before replying, “That chamber you were in, you were put there to be protected when you were about 25. The liquid that covered you is how your body has been preserved for all this time. Only when your body was free from the threat of death would the liquid evaporate.”

“I almost died?”

Keith stares at his empty bowl. “A lot happened while you were asleep. The world changed drastically, and now civilization is scattered. The population as a whole has decreased significantly after the war.”

“War?”

“There’s a lot I need to catch you up on. But,” Keith pushes his chair out and stands, “I would rather you regain your memories on your own. Though I know things, I don’t know everything. Some stuff I won’t be able to answer simply because I just don’t have that knowledge.”

He takes his bowl to the kitchen to wash it. Shiro picks up his fallen spoon from the floor and wipes it with a napkin. The remaining broth he slurps up before following Keith’s lead. Standing side by side, the mysterious man is a head and neck shorter than him, give or take. A lot lither too in body frame. His tunic is a deep red and he has a vest made of thin brown leather. It looks pretty worn. His pants are a dark gray, and his boots a deep black. A pendant with a purple crystal hangs around his neck.

“So I’m 25,” Shiro starts, not wanting to be caught staring. “Then how old are you? Maybe 19?”

“Colder.”

“21?”

“Still cold.”

“Okay, 23.”

“Nope.” Keith finishes scrubbing his dish clean, and then takes Shiro’s. “I’m actually 122 years old.”

“ _What?_ ”

“But I look like I’m around 22, yeah. It’s why I know a lot of stuff. Over 100 years is a lot of time to gather knowledge and experience of all kinds.”

This is too much for one day.

Shiro can’t help but sit down. He just slumps himself in one of the armchairs, staring at his palms. Has he really been asleep for a century? What was this war? Why can’t he remember? And how the hell can Keith be that old?

“You okay?” his host asks sometime later. His voice is gentle. Keith sits down on the other armchair and Kosmo plops himself at his feet. “Your face is pale.”

“I… I don’t know what to think.”

“Understandable. It’s a lot to take in.”

Swallowing, he asks, “How did you know where I was?”

“Found you through a lot of searching. You were right under my nose for at least 30 years, and I didn’t even realize it until recently. But you don’t have to worry about any more of those creatures. They’re rare all the way up here on this plateau, but I’ve put an enchantment on this place so they can’t find it. To outsiders, it just looks like an old giant tree with a boulder next to it.”

“That was you who killed them?” asks Shiro. He meets Keith’s gaze. “I smelled fire—heard it even. And I was in the air, I swear it.”

“Ah,” Keith rubs the back of his neck, “right. Uh, that’s kinda why my lifespan is longer than most other mortals.”

He pauses, and adds, “I’m half-dragon, so I can transform into one at will.”

Shiro could use a pint of rum right about now.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hello. :) So this concept was inspired by quite a few things. Firstly, the Monsters & Mana episode of season 6, this [dragon Keith](http://kaa-05n2.tumblr.com/post/174890730819) fanart, and a little by _Breath of the Wild_.
> 
> I've been wanting to write a long fic for Sheith, but didn't have any ideas until now. However, I still... don't actually have much of a plot, ha ha. So instead, I wanted to test out this concept by uploading the first chapter to see if people would be interested in reading about it. Other characters will be included (and maybe even side pairings), but this is first and foremost a Sheith fic.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts the comment section. Or better yet, how do _you_ think the story will unfold based on this first installment alone? What do you want to see in this AU? That might help me piece together a plot much quicker. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! ❤


End file.
